North (40 page)

"These words, if you please, are addressed to you!"

Poetry . . . I leave him be . . . he feels better when he's playing a part . . .

"Bravo! Le Vig! . . . let's get on upstairs . . ."

He's got another question . . .

"The druggist?" . . . What do I think of him?

"I don't know yet . . ."
^{. -}

"And Inge?"

"Dubious! . . . dubious!"

"Okay, come on!"

They're all dubious . . . he finally, makes up his mind, we go up . . . Lili makes coffee . . . ersatz . . .

"This won't do you any harm!"

Sweet Lili, so thoughtful . . . all heart . . . Le Vig tells her he was pretty near eaten alive . . .

"The truth, Lili! the truth! and just think, Le Vig it's not over yet!"

"I never said it was!"

Now he's got the wild giggles. . . is he really nuts? or acting? with him you could never tell . . .

Think of it, Ferdie, the things we've seen! . . . von Dopf! . . . the old stinker! Pretorius! . . . the Zenith Hotel! . . . the Chancellery! Adolf's ghost! . . . the Fifis at my place on Avenue Junot! . . . shall I recapitulate?"

"No, Le Vig! . . . you're just knocking yourself out . . . don't recapitulate!"

"They all betrayed me! denounced me! the Federates! the generals of Montmartre! . . . and Lecomte and Clément Thomas!"

"You'll have a stroke, forget about them, they were shot!"

"You think so? you think so?"

"I'm positive!"

"That's good! in that case I'll take a rest!"

He stretches out full length on the straw . . .

"You see there's nothing to worry about up here . . . no rats . . ."

"But say, Simmer . . . maybe . . ."

"Maybe what?"

"Some caper!"

"And Harras? don't you think . . .?"

Nothing you can say to him . . . he'll calm down . . .

"And the geese? . . . and the nettles? . . . somebody put those nettles there! did you see that uprising?"

"Yes! of course! somebody engineered it!"

"You see? . . . you agree with me!"

"Of course I do, Le Vig!"

He's much better off than downstairs . . . I let him doze . . . he dozes . . .

"Say, Le Vig, the sky's pink now! . . . all pink! good sign!"

"You think so? You think so? . . ."

He hasn't the strength to doubt . . . he falls asleep . . .

We're waiting . . . Lili, Le Vig, and me . . . after a tormented night . . . oh, not the rats, they'd been fairly quiet . . . two three scurryings over the straw . . . nothing more . . . Bébert hadn't even moved . . . Le Vig had slept a bit, not much, Lili had slept some too, I think . . . myself I'm wondering . . . plenty to wonder about . . . I could manage without sleep . . . what we'd do first thing in the morning . . . at dawn I poke Lili . . ."

"You going upstairs?"

She didn't get it . . .

To see Marie-Thérèse?"

"Not before ten!"

"Sooner! . . . right away!"

"I wouldn't want to disturb her . . ."

"No! no! . . . go on! . . . I'm asking you to!"

Through her we'd find out if the Russians were in Berlin . . . she'd had news, I don't know how . . . but I'm pretty sure . . . Lili goes up . . . it must have been eight o'clock . . . she had a pretext, her dancing . . . all the same, eight o'clock was early . . .

Le Vig and I were wondering what Marie-Thérèse would tell her . . . certainly not the whole story . . . meanwhile there'd been heavy traffic on the stairs since daybreak . . . chatter . . . kids' voices . . . little girls . . . must have been the old man's Polish chicks . . . running up from the peristyle to the second floor balcony . . . laughing . . . about what? . . . no way of knowing . . . kids laugh about everything . . . if the Tartars wore there cutting people's heads off, they'd be in stitches . . . the Gypsy kids were there too, boys and girls . . . coppery brown and oiled . . . in their big sisters' dresses . . . shortened, with the waist around their shoulders . . . and castanets, just to get our goat . . . the whole floor,
tat-tat-tat-tat 
. . . Marie-Thérèse has plenty of reason for being awake . . . I say to Le Vig: "something's going on!". . . this invasion . . . our kids and the Gypsies, this snake dance from peristyle to attic . . . if they're taking such liberties and arguing in every kind of Choctaw, something must have happened! . . . Kracht would have known, he's not here . . . Lili's taking her time . . . could she be dancing up there? . . . had Marie-Thérèse kept her for breakfast? . . . the time was passing . . .

We'd been waiting at least an hour . . . the children were running and tumbling . . . plus the castanets . . . never a let-up . . . all barefoot . . . and screaming in every dialect! . . . up and down! . . .

Ah, at last! . . . somebody on the balcony up above, or rather the footbridge leading to the other tower . . . we could have gone up there too . . . is it Lili? . . . yes, it's Lili all right . . . well? what's the news? . . . well, it was worth waiting for! . . . this sarabande of brats, the kids from the Gypsy wagon and the little Polish whipping girls, were making preparations for the old man's departure . . . yes, he was leaving . . . all of a sudden he'd made up his mind! . . . with Iago gone, he'd taken back his war horse . . . and now he was off to the wars! . . . to fight the Russians! . . . up and at 'em! . . . the battle of Berlin! . . . hundreds of Russians would bite the mud of the plains before they'd touch him! . . . the funniest part was his sister up there, Marie-Thérèse . . . she was all for it! . . . you couldn't argue with him . . . just one word? . . . sister or not, he was out of control . . . even in early childhood when he threw a tantrum, his governesses had run for dear life, he tried to put their eyes out . . . in the end, when they wanted him to finish his soup they all put on masks like fencers . . . now at the age of eighty it was the Russian Army . . . he was going out to meet them, he'd challenge their general and cut his ears off! . . . and all the rest of them! . . . ears and heads! . . . no parry for that thrust! . . .
zzzt!
. . . he'd whetted his saber all by himself, the blade had little notches in it! oh, those Russian heads! . . . his notched razor! . . . nothing could block it! . . . Marie-Thérèse could see their heads flying through the skyl right over us! . . . over the church! . . . he'd send them back to us from Berlin! . . . ah, the Russian Army! . . . all those heads! . . .

"Yes . . . yes, brother!"

What he was going to do to those Russians! . . . challenge them to hand-to-hand combat! . . . bunch of lily-livered stinking sewer snakes! . . . and that goes for their general and their tsar!

"Yes, Hermann!"

The Russians know me! from way back! the
Rermenkampf ° Horde
, August 1914! . . . Tarmenberg! °

Were they going to defy him now? . . . those rats! coming to Zornhof? . . . they'd come in coffins!

"Yes, Hermann, but you won't be alone!"

"Oh yes, I will! . . . alone! . . . now that Hindehburgs gone! . . . alone against them all! single-handed!"

"Oh brother, how right you are! let me embrace you! . . . don't hesitate for one moment!"

"You understand me, sister! I embrace you! . . . and now to the saddle! . . . tonight corpses! and more corpses! look at the church clock! . . . heads! . . . heads! you'll see them passing! Tartars, you asked for it! . . . look, sister! . . . this plain will be red! . . . all red! all the way to the Oder!"

"Yes, brother, I shall be looking! . . ."

She at least was all for it, she understood him, she had never contradicted him! and now: to horse! out by the peristyle! . . . we'd help him into his saddle . . . all three of us go down with his sister . . . and the little barefooted Polish girls . . . the whole village must have known where he was going . . . but nobody had bothered to show up . . . except three
bibels
from the stable . . . I was talking about his horse . . . beg your pardon, his mare! . . . Bleuette! Why the French name? . . . there she was, all saddled . . . outside the peristyle . . . a
bibelforscher
was holding her . . . holding her properly . . . the man knew his horses . . . they hadn't worn her down too bad on the farm . . . though plowing is hard work . . . not the thing for a half-bred! . . . here comes the
Rittmeister
, fully outfitted, spurs, epaulettes, brandenburgs, Iron Cross . . . and schapska! . . . he pats himself to see if he's got everything . . . yes, it's all there! . . . and his stirrups? . . . he likes them short . . . plenty of oats? . . . oh yes, two bags! . . . and the nose bag?. . . he's got it! . . . one of the
bibels
holds the stirrups for him . . . no! he brooks no help! . . . one hand on the pommel and heave! . . . he's in the saddle . . . good posture . . . "straight, relaxed, without stiffness" . . . strictly "regulation" . . . I know . . . a very different story from the riders I see every day crossing the Saint-Cloud bridge . . . or in the Bois de Boulogne, desperate, clutching the horse's neck . . . their "seat" isn't right . . . they don't, move with the horse . . . they ride on their balls . . . a ghastly sight! . . . before 1914 you'd have died in a dungeon if you'd dared to show yourself like that . . . knees all bunched up, elbows in the air . . .

Nowadays you can get away with anything anything goes . . . Silence! . . . quiet on the set!

But I'm taking you all over the place . . . I'm getting lost myself! . . . could I be losing my manners? . . . present, past, I take every liberty! . . . at my age I say to myself: hell! why not? I won't be able to write forever, suppose I left something out! . . . Nimier promised me the other day: when they put you into "comics'' they'll cut this and that! . . . the rabble will inherit the earth! Nietzsche . . . my word, we've got to that point already! . . . do you know of anything lower than French Television? impossible! . . . never a Wednesday without some horrible nondescript incompetent plagiarizing me shamelessly and proclaiming . . . the all-fired crust! . . . that I've ceased to exist!

As you can imagine, I don't own a TV set. . . but Lili's got one!

Okay! . . . back to Brandenburg, looking out on the plain . . . that infinity of beets . . . potatoes . . . furrows . . . furrows . . . and the
Rittmeister
in the saddle . . . funny how few people have come to see him off! . . . nobody from the farm or the offices . . . sure they know but they don't come around . . . the Kratzmuhls must be in their apartment . . . and Inge von Leiden? and Kracht? . . . you'd think they'd want to see the old whipping boy riding off to war . . . they're peeping all right, I wonder from where . . . we don't hide . . . the
Rittmeister
. . . straight in his saddle . . . gets going . . . at a walk . . . the little Polish girls wave good-bye . . . good-bye . . . and make faces . . . they stick out their tongue at him . . . they're having a fine time . . . they throw handfuls of pebbles after him . . . he's out there at the end of the park, studying his map . . . he's not looking at the kids, he's orienting himself . . . with a compass too . . . a great big one on a chain . . . he spurs his horse to a trot . . . a canter . . . he's pretty far away when he starts trotting on the bias . . . he wheels about! he turns toward us with saber upraised! . . . he salutes us! . . . Le Vig and I come to attention! . . . military salute! . . . the kids around us explode. . . they run away laughing and squealing . . . and throwing stones at us too . . . they think we're as funny as the old screwball! . . . in the end there's only the three of us looking at the plain . . . Lili, Le Vig, and me . . . and Bébert in his bag . . . the old man has trotted off southward . . . he stands out against the horizon . . . not so much him as his mare Bleuette, all white against the clouds . . .

I've told you, the clouds are all black and sulphur-yellow over toward Berlin . . . we don't talk, we wait . . . I expect the others to come down and ask us what we're doing there . . . and what about la Thor von Thorfels? usually so talkative . . . not a trace! nobody! nobody asks us a thing . . . nobody asks us if the old man is really gone . . . not a word . . . or at the
mahlzeit
that evening . . . or later . . . nothing . . .